


blowing kisses to hurt you

by thissupposedcrime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissupposedcrime/pseuds/thissupposedcrime
Summary: Otabek isn’t faultless. Yuri knows this like he knows the adrenaline of performing, like the love of his family. The years lessen the moodiness of Otabek’s grudges and silences, but they’re permanently tattooed onto his bones and breath. Otabek becomes scar tissue.Hindsight performs an unnecessary autopsy on the end of their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me: returning to college tomorrow via a six hour drive, professional obligations a tower waiting to collapse atop me, not enough time to even send detailed thank yous to commenters on my other fics…  
> AND HERE I AM WITH THIS: UNBETAED AND WRITTEN IN LIKE 2 HOURS

_They tried._

* * *

From the start, Yuri recognizes there’s something terrifying about falling in love with Otabek, separate from the imminent failure of losing his first friend or the crash and burn of nerves lighting up his system when they face each other across the podiums.

The fear seeps into his veins during quiet moments: Otabek’s breathing synchronized with his, the attractive tilt of his jaw, so tempting Yuri nearly leaves permanent bite marks against the skin, his shameful realization that though he adores the scrunch of Otabek’s nose as he sleeps, Yuri will forget the details by mid-afternoon.

Unfortunately for them both, Otabek spent years doggedly chasing the wisps of memory Yuri left behind, childish admiration turned professional, unquenchable adoration. Equally tragic, Yuri Plisetsky always throws himself into challenges, Russia’s _never say die_ golden haloed boy who pines for Kazakhstan's hero, an inferno of impatience the longer he’s denied.

So they collide together like planets, faint traces of teenaged years barely clinging to Yuri’s skin as Otabek pulls and Yuri pushes.

_“Just kiss me already!”_

Yuri never bothers to ask if Otabek’s worries matched his; the chaos of conclusion is a permanent stain, regardless of the answer.

* * *

It wouldn’t be a memorable story if things weren’t _good_ in the beginning, seasons spanning continents as their love affair unfolds. Yuri sacrifices visits to Japan to melt under the unforgiving sun of Almaty in the summer, a counter to Otabek’s dutiful treks to Moscow and the Plisetsky patriarch as April transforms to May.

Otabek’s coffee order is embedded on Yuri’s tongue, licked from his mouth with precision but also found in syllables easily offered to the barista awaiting their request. He always remembers to wash extra blankets for Yuri’s side of the bed with no complaint, though each knows Yuri will intertwine with him by midnight, a living space heater, before grabbing cotton sheets or goose down stuffing.

Laundry is no longer separated into his and his but _theirs_ , and Otabek’s hoodies nestle in drawers in three countries, stolen away to fight St. Petersburg and Yu-topia’s drafty winters. Impromptu bike trips across Kazakhstan, goofy souvenirs sent when travelling for Grand Prix preliminaries, and the books Yuri reads on long plane rides because they rested on Otabek’s living room table are always their _good_.

Pictures are taken per Yuri’s whiny demands and deleted when Otabek frowns, deep and desert dry. Yuri wages social media wars on Otabek's behalf, ugly and public for a man desiring privacy. Arguments over Yuri’s temper and Otabek’s temperance occur at least once every trip, increasing in frequency, in tempo if Otabek wrangles Yuri over for visits with his family. Yuri’s goals are built from concrete, inflexible. They’re both jealous, but only Yuri monstrously so.

Otabek isn’t faultless. Yuri knows this like he knows the adrenaline of performing, like the love of his family. The years lessen the moodiness of Otabek’s grudges and silences, but they’re permanently tattooed onto his bones and breath. Otabek becomes scar tissue.

Hindsight performs an unnecessary autopsy: there was always love, and there was always sacrifice. Neither managed to uncover the right blend, and that fact is the specter that haunts their memories in the still of night, regardless of current bedfellows.

* * *

Lilia and Yakov are the tipping point.

(Once Otabek’s presence evaporates, the smell of cologne disappeared from Yuri’s apartment forever, Yuri will muster enough rage to drink himself into a stupor. The one fucking time he attempts to mimic Victor and Yuuri and he ends up like his coaches, a separation in motion.)

He wants to ask them what they saw, what about Otabek's movements, Yuri's emotions, the dopey looks on their faces clued them in. Hell, maybe it wasn’t the specifics of Otabek and Yuri but fragments of them, younger and faltering. Lilia and Yakov easily sense the echo of limited time, distance measured in more than miles.

But for now, Yuri is twenty-two and unleashed if Otabek is present. Neither forces him to attend banquets if Otabek is skipping, ignore the curtness of his answers during press conferences if Otabek finished before him, don’t remark on the hour he arrives at the hotel as long as it doesn’t impact his performance on ice.

The funny thing about limited time is not knowing your time _is_ limited.

Enjoy it while you can, Yura.

* * *

_“Stay with me.”_

Rain isn’t pouring when the end finally wins the race against them. Maybe it should, but that’s always been Mila’s sort of thing. Romantic cliches are meaningless to men who define the profession by slowly killing their souls on the rink, marching like battle weary soldiers towards perfection.

The weather is clear in Almaty, judging by the app on his phone. Then again, weather isn’t a factor indoors during press conferences.

Otabek Altin announces his retirement.

Otabek Altin announces he’s remaining in Kazakhstan to foster their increasingly popular skating programs.

Otabek Altin announces the end to the world.

Obviously the news is a relief to his public, to his fans. Offensively, the choice wasn’t a choice but an automatic inevitability the moment Otabek grew to prominence, raising his country on the broad shoulders Yuri used to dig his fingers into right before orgasms hit and sent him crashing back to earth.

So Yuri continues on, alone, and pretends the press conference was the definitive goodbye.

_“No.”_

A memory Yuri tries to exorcise from his nightmares: the first and last time tears snuck past the steel of Otabek’s eyes, holding out a ring and imploring Yuri to make a home with him.

 _“Yes”_  is bitter on his tongue when he wakes up, but remains, as always, unspoken.

He is Russian. He cannot falter.

During the next skating season, Yuri takes gold in everything with a program theme of sacrifice. Apologies are hidden in his axels, pining left behind in loops. This is the language Otabek helped him understand, the language Yuri learned to love him in. Yuri can fill the empty void of abandonment no other way.

They refuse to contact each other.

( _They're waiting for the other to reach out._ )

**Author's Note:**

> I had Already Gone (Sleeping at Last cover) on loop when I wrote. Title came from me mishearing a lyric and running with it.  
> My pain at writing angst for them bodes well for anyone who wants a happy ending for my other fic.  
> [tumblr](http://thissupposedcrime.tumblr.com//)


End file.
